Seventy Years
by The Pepper Pot
Summary: Britain and America tour a ship they had served on during the Pacific War and have flashbacks to the good times they'd had.


Last week, I toured the USS North Carolina that was used in the Second World War. It was the first of the fleet used in the Pacific War of the North Carolina Class to be made after sixteen years and was nearly sunk six times but was one of the best ships in the Pacific Fleet with one of the lowest casualty rates. On the tour, I spent all my time looking around for nooks and crannies where two sailors might engage in questionable behaviour by wandering around boiler rooms and officer's chambers where I probably shouldn't have gone as it was technically not roped off but still not part of the marked tour. So here is my story set seventy years later as America drags England on the tour of the ship, bringing back the memories of the past when they fought together and had been closer than they had ever been. Flashbacks and yaoi. Don't like; don't read. It's really that simple. I own nothing, so without further ado;

"This is the one!" America all but ran to the historic vessel the USS North Carolina. It had been rescued and preserved for fifty years as a museum after the war ended. "Didn't I tell you we still had it somewhere? Pretty impressive, isn't it, considering it's been seventy years!"

"Has it really been seventy years?" England walked with America up the tourist 'gangplank' which was surgically attached to the building portion of the museum. Somehow it seems like less time has passed. And sometimes more. "So much has happened since then; it's rather amazing."

America grabbed the hand of the grumpy Brit and led him onto the ship, then stopped in shock. "The floor's different." Now that he looked closer; everything was different. It was like the skeleton of the ship was preserved, but it was all painted steel blue and the floor was not wood, it was that dumb pulp mixture that was always used. A wood lookalike; not the real thing.

"Of course it's different, did you really think that it'd be the same ship that we used all those years ago? Wood rots quickly in salt air, or didn't you know that?" His hand rose to cover his eyes as he looked over the painted guns and camouflaged bridge. "But enough is the same. Should we take the tour, or see if we can find some of our old hangouts?"

Looking sceptical, America sighed. "It won't be the same either way. If we follow the tour we'll be making a mockery of our past and if we find our old hangouts it won't be the same as it was considering everyone else is dead and gone." He looked back at England and noticed that he was blushing. "Arthur?"

Taking up stride, England led the way to a marked off passage down to the boiler room. Then America realized what he had meant. He didn't want to hang around by the shops or the bunk rooms; he wanted to go somewhere only the two of them had known about. Somewhere private. Well, as private as you can get on an overcrowded ship with 500 more men than it was built to carry. Even the bunkrooms and bathrooms had provided less privacy than these places. Though they had been in love for over a century at that point, then still had to hide that love, as the US navy was stringent in their regulations, one being heterosexuality. Surprisingly, there were many such places they could go for their stolen moments.

There were main staircases for the tours, but they went down one of the roped off netted latters which had been left unused. If they could get down to the boiler room…Once Alfred reached the end of the staircase and started to walk towards the next ladder he felt a hand grab him from behind pulling him into the stairwell. There was only a foot or so of space between the railing and the wall, and it was a tighter fit than it had been in the past for the American. "Oof!" There was a slight bend in the stairwell which he was pulled into, just barely out of sight of the tourists filing past. "Are we really going to? Here? Are you crazy? There are tourists everywhere; we'll be caught for sure!"

_Seventy years ago, Alfred had enlisted for his own air force and boarded the USS North Carolina, the first ship in the fleet built by his superfast assembly line process. It was also one of the first combination battleships and aircraft carriers as it included two fighter planes, one of which he'd be flying. It was one of the most durable ships in the world, and he'd show prove to the world what he was made of. He made his way down to the bunk room to store his things, but had gotten lost. After a few minutes of wandering, he decided to head back up to the deck to get reoriented and ask someone for directions; the map he was given wasn't doing him much good. As he approached the nearest ladder, a hand reached out and pulled him into the stairwell. It was a tight fit as he got his rucksack stuck but he made it in. "Oof!" He saw that there was a bend hidden by pipes and valves but looked dusty, like nobody went back here much. "Arthur? What are you doing here?" He was cut off as the Brit's lips crashed into his._

_"I registered 'Arthur Kirkland' as a British volunteer. That way I'd be with you during the war the way our armies are together. It seemed to make sense at the time." He pushed off the aviation jacket and…aviation jacket? And he had goggles over his forehead. And his uniform wasn't a navy uniform; it was for the air force. "Alfred, why are you in the wrong uniform?"_

_He tried to continue protesting, but his words were eaten by England. "That never bothered you when there were thousands on board the ship, why should it bother you now that there are maybe a hundred tourists? It's not like they can shoot us for it now, so what's the risk?" His hands moved down his collar and felt the soft leather and fur. "You're still wearing your A-2 jacket. It's softer now."_

_Alfred grew flustered. "It's not the wrong uniform; there are two planes on this ship and I'm one of the pilots."_

_Blushing, he nuzzled against his lover. "It's well loved. Remember the first day I wore it?"_

_He was brought in for another kiss, more deep and sensual than the last one. "Dude, we should stop. If we're caught, there'll be some serious consequences, and we can't risk it."_

_"Relax, we can hardly be seen from the stairwell, and who'll hear us over the sound of the engines? It's deafening."_

_"I remember it well; it was the first time we made love here. How many times would you say we used this stairwell?" His fingers eased the jacket off of him and it fell to the floor carelessly._

_"Hmm. At least half a dozen, but there were other locations too. It was as if every time could have been our last, and so they were all extra special." He heard tourists coming their way, even though their stairs weren't technically part of the tour. Nobody walked behind stairwells; it was just a dead end to them! "The engines are cut; they'll be able to hear us!"_

_"Relax, we can't be seen, so they'll assume it's something else; another tourist or the like. Since when were you so antsy?" His hands travelled lower. "Besides, I think you really like to do it in the open like this. It's more controversial that way."_

_His hands began to trace the air force uniform, unbuttoning it and opening the front. "Arthur, I need to find where I'm quartering so I can store my things."_

_"Forget the stuff for now. You have bigger problems to worry about." He pointed out the growing tent in the other's pants and began to fumble with the zipper._

_America twisted away and..._

The two nations backed out of the stairwell; everything around them was for some reason painted steel blue, as if that was to replicate the raw steel. Everything was locked with modern padlocks or bolted shut. Sooner or later they found their way to their quarters and had a look around. It was strange to see a place you spent two years as a display for people who weren't there and could never understand. Lockers were badly beat up, and even if they hadn't been welded shut they would have been too disfigured to open. At one point, America tried to open his old locker and was surprised to find that he could get the bottom third pried open just enough to extract a small piece of paper. England blushed when he saw it.

Meet me in the portside boiler room. There's a problem and I need your help.

America had come running to help with whatever technical difficulty there was. If there was danger, England had to be saved. He could never have forgiven himself if he had met his end on one of the American fleet. He had gotten to the room, panting and sweating, and looked around. There had been nobody there, but he had heard a faint moan in the corner, behind the main water valve. "Arthur? Are you there?" The moaning had continued, getting louder. Was he in pain? Could he not speak? America had continued to look around for his partner and had found him hunched over in a corner, face flushed and hands...preoccupied. America had had to laugh. "Is this the problem you need help with?"

England characteristically had set his eyebrows into a scowl. "Well, don't stare at me like that. If you're the hero you claim to be; help me out." America smirked at him, but had then bent down and helped the Brit up onto the slotted step so that it would be easier to kneel between his legs. England readjusted himself and spread his legs, exposing himself to his lover, who eagerly took began to lick at the tip and then took some in.

America laughed at the note now, hardly believing he had misunderstood. "You kept it all these years?"

"Well, if you count losing it in your locker and then leaving it there for seventy years safe keeping, then...yes?" America's facial expression was so sarcastically confused that England just had to laugh and kiss him.

"Do you want to go there now?" America blushed and grinned. They set off walking the 'wrong way' as far as the sweaty and grumpy tourists were concerned. But America and England knew the quickest ways to get where they were going.

_America knelt down, resting his hands on the step under England's legs. The red, chaffed organ stood between before him and just had to have it. He eagerly licked the precum off of the tip, as the perfect cock twitched in anticipation. He began to sink his head lower onto the shaft and rub it with his tongue before pulling off and looking back up to see England, face bright and coated with a light sheen, hands gripping nearby pipes. America flicked his tongue around the head and suckled lightly, receiving moans and light thrusts from the other man. He pressed down all the way, felt England buck into his mouth, and backed off. England whined and opened his eyes to see America taking off his gloves and laying them down a hand's reach away._

_"I have a feeling you want to let loose and fuck my mouth. Am I right?" England's eyes turned from lust filled to predatory in a heartbeat. He stood shakily and pushed America to his knees._

_His fingers wriggled their way through America's hair and pressed him down onto his length, impaling his lover's mouth. He heard a gurgle, but didn't pull off the head quite yet, marvelling in the way the loose vibrations felt on him, making him stiffen. He pulled America's head off and forced his head back so that he could look into his eyes. The sky blue eyes had turned cerulean with lust and made the older country want him even more. He realigned his member with his lover's puffy pink lips and pressed in, feeling the tongue flicker when it could, and sped up._

_That magnificent cock slid past America's lips, and it was all he could do to keep his mouth agape as England continued to thrust. Shocks of pleasure ran through America as he felt his partner heating up. One of his hands travelled up the perfect thigh in front of him for balance as he used his other hand to slip into his own pants. He was getting hard himself._

England stopped on the way. The medic's rooms. They had once spent some time in there together. The doors were painted shut like the rest of the place, and no doubt locked. He could faintly see the outline of the bed in the dark room. This one of the few beds which allowed for enough head room; the enlisted men slept four or five tiers high in suspended bunks, but the officers had all the room they cold want. It wasn't the most comfortable bed they'd ever made love in, but it was the best they had access to on the ship.

One time when Alfred had come in with a broken arm he had spent the night there. He had gotten his arm pinched in the metal when he half crashed his plane into the side of the ship and fell into the water. The metal had to be reworked and his arm needed to be set, but all in all what he really needed was companionship.

_He was getting closer, even though his arm ached with every movement. England was atop him, thrusting downwards onto him, and he felt that perfect, greedy ass envelop him, then pulling away. England's face was all screwed up and red, and he leaned is weight onto America's left shoulder, sparing his right due to the injury. They had to be quick; the doctor had just left and could be back at any moment. This was the most open they had ever been and it was one part terrifying and two parts thrilling. England's breath grew short and strained as he moved uncontrollably up and down on the magnificent cock, feeling it fill him, stretch him. He began to shudder and he felt his lower body constrict as he came, and forced himself to ride out the orgasm. America felt the tenseness as England jerked uncontrolled for a few seconds, bringing him to his climax as well. England laid down panting for a few minutes, but then they heard the clicking of hobnailed boots and knew in a few seconds the door would open and they would be caught. England helped him zip his pants and pulled up his own just in time for the door to open, still fixing his shirt as the doctor came into the room, reading from his papers._

_"Let me see, broken arm, trauma to the head. I can set the arm, but you'll have to stay overnight so we can monitor any bleeding or swelling and prevent further damage." He stopped in front of the bed and gave England a disgusted glance as he guessed what the clear liquid on his patient was._

_The British soldier stood at practiced attention. "Sir, Corporal Jones seems to have nausea from the head injury. Is there anything that can be done?" A few feet away, America gave a sigh of relief, which the Doctor took to be a groan of pain. As soon as the doctor turned his back, he looked down at his shirt. 'It looks like bile?' he wondered._

"I was on some weird drugs for the next two days, just so you know."

"How could I not know? You've been bugging me about it for seventy years."

"No seriously, I couldn't hold an erection for at least two weeks."

"I know; I was there. Good god did my jaw ache after the first couple days."

"Maybe that's how I feel when I'm sucking you off. You're rather slow to rise; that's why you invented Viagra, isn't it?"

England's face grew a little flushed. "Well, I hardly use it. I get far more sales in the States, just so you know."

"I love you." He gave England a chaste kiss and walked up to the deck. The sun was shining brightly. They could never go back to the past. They couldn't preserve it. But they would always remember, and cherish those memories.

I've never done flashbacks before, please tell me what you think.

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I actually really liked this story when I wrote it. I haven't re read it, but I remember how cool it was to tour it looking for sexy places and then writing it. I really hope you like this one. Read and respond.


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